Chapter 3. A Clue Points at Me
1316 Words
When the detectives left, we tried to
get back into our Saturday routine. Actually, it was our every day routine when
we were in Wisconsin. We read the paper and drank coffee. The big news item was
the presidential campaign. Wisconsin was seen as a battleground state. Both
major party candidates were stumping in Madison, Milwaukee, and the smaller
cities. A few weeks before, the Green Party had rejected Nader and picked
someone else as its nominee. All this was pretty exciting politics for those
who were interested.
Betty eventually showered and went to an
estate sale.
“If you see a bike that’s in good shape, I wouldn’t mind having it,” I said.
She gave me an odd look. “For you to ride?”
“Sure. Why not? You said you’ve seen several bikes at sales that were really cheap.”
She still had that mystified look.
“I don’t want
one with skinny tires or lots of gears. Just a plain bike. And I want a banana
seat.”
“Banana seat. I remember those. They
were from the sixties, right? I don’t think they make
them anymore.”
“A banana seat would be a lot more
comfortable than a regular seat.”
She just stood there for a moment,
shaking her head. Then she put her arms around me. “I’m very lucky to have you,” she said.
“And I am very lucky to have you,” I answered.
“You better believe it, buddy,” she said. Then she went out in pursuit of junk and, hopefully, a
cheap but functional bicycle.
I went into the spare bedroom we have
set up as an office and got on the internet. After checking my email accounts,
I did a little computing for a few projects. I didn’t get paid for summer
work, but when a project was hanging out there ready to progress to the next
step, I couldn’t resist. My job was to test hypotheses
using data collected from surveys. It made me feel good to find the answers to
life’s little questions, even if no one else was really
interested.
Frankly, I forgot all about the dead guy
under my deck. It was really none of my business and, besides, the police were
handling the problem. I didn’t even look for the story in the
Milwaukee paper because I figured it was too soon. Not that Milwaukee papers
would care much about a single body found out in the boondocks. They had bodies
all over the place in that town.
By noon I was ready for a break. After a
few pushups to get the blood circulating and to tone up the flab, it was time
for my walk. The village of Fort Atkinson, “Fort” for
short, was a real jewel. Our place was on the edge of town, but we could walk
downtown in just thirty minutes. Traffic was fairly light if you stayed on the
residential streets. The Rock River ran through the center of town. I peered
over the wall and watched the water for a few minutes, then strolled over to
the hardware store. The ad for True Value that was in the morning paper said
they sold small engines.
There was a kid working in the power
tools section who looked like he was about 15. I figured he had to know more
about small engines than I did, so I hit him with my question.
“Do you have a gasoline motor that can
be mounted on a bicycle?”
He looked at me like I was nuts.
“You know, on the axle. So I won’t have to pedal.” You have to draw a picture
for some people.
“Why don’t you
buy a skooter?”
See, this was the problem with
teenagers. They didn’t understand service. I asked the guy a simple question
and he gave me guff.
“A chain saw turns a chain. A bike has a
chain. Would a chain saw drive a bike?” I was giving
him hints, hoping his brain might start to work.
“I don’t think
that would work. The chain saw would cut your leg off.”
What an i***t. Not getting any help, I
left, planning to go back later when an adult might be working there.
Have you ever noticed that everything
cost a lot of money and was a lot more complicated than it needed to be? Back
before all homes had utility lines, some washing machines were made that had
gasoline motors. Creative teenagers put those motors on their bicycles -
instant motorcycle. Now, you had to spend thousands to get a motorcycle. Then
you had to register the monster, get plates and insurance, and worry about
theft. Or, if you didn’t want to go 100 miles per hour, you could buy a
scooter. The state of Wisconsin still wanted you to register it, and, of
course, it would have to be in compliance with a bunch of safety regulations.
Why did a vehicle have to cost thousands
of dollars? I bet you could mass produce Model T’s with little modern engines for about
$500 bucks each. Heck, you could put a lawnmower engine on a golf cart and
drive it around Fort. More to the point, why were we paying a lot of fees for
safety inspections and vehicle registration? To pay our share of road
maintenance costs, you say? On the other hand, if you rode a bicycle, you didn’t have to register it and it did not have to pass inspection. You
were still using the road, so what was the difference?
The answer had to be the bicycle lobby.
Those guys and gals in the spandex pants who were spending hundreds on whiz
bang racing bikes had the money that swung votes and made favorable laws. You
think I am kidding? The Yuppie lobby got what it wanted. Heck, the Democratic
nominee was one of those spandex guys. The Yuppies even had their own
presidential candidate. Now that was political power.
Where was I? Oh, after striking out at
True Value, I walked back to the condo. We were the first and, so far, the only
people living in the place. We had purchased it sight-unseen, based on location
and price. It was either a very smart move, or we were just lucky because we
were quite satisfied with it. Of course, a number of small issues had to be
resolved as with any new construction. Trim, tile work, and some painting were
still needed. The window in the garage had not been finished.
With all this going on, I was not
surprised to find the garage door open when I got back home. On the other hand,
I did not expect to find our friendly neighborhood detectives standing by my
garbage which they had apparently seen fit to dump on the floor of the garage.
They seemed surprised to see me when in
I wandered like a lamb to the slaughter. Detective Schmidt turned to me, then
held out a baggie with a wallet in it. “Have you ever seen this before, Mr.
Schumacher?”
After a brief perusal I answered, “No. Where did you find
it?” Perhaps the exercise had moved all of my blood
into my feet. Otherwise, I would have guessed where they found it right away.
Broder pulled out some handcuffs and
grabbed me by the arm. “You have the right to remain silent...” I didn’t hear the rest. Apparently, if your
jaw falls open wide enough, it makes you go deaf.
- Writer
